Scott Simpson · Poetry

The Craftsman’s Hands

Restoration Blues · source pages 40

The original line breaks, stanza spacing, and placement are preserved. Long lines scroll horizontally.

Source page 40

They thought Him a fool—

mopping decks, binding wounds,

feeding those who hadn’t asked.

No crown, no sword,

only a towel slung over one shoulder.

They mistook Him for a servant,

never guessed the hands

that scrubbed blood from boards

had set stars spinning,

had shaped seas with a word.

He spoke of love, not escape—

of a ship that could be saved,

if only the crew would remember

who they were, whose they were.

But they wanted lifeboats,

not lessons.

They couldn’t see the hands

that bled for them,

busy as they were

scrambling for the rafts.